Ouchies

There had been a bad crash outside our hostel overnight. At a guess it looks like one 4×4 had been overtaking and gone head-on into another at speed. I’d suspect someone had been at the palm wine. Both cars were being lifted onto a car transporter by a crane when I got up.

Not a lot else to write about the drive to Kupang. Inside East Timor we passed a fuel truck that had gone off the road and rolled down a steep hill. Locals were siphoning out the petrol into plastic bottles – one or two with lit cigarettes in their mouths. Mad.

The journey took around 12 hours despite a burst tyre just past the Indonesian border. Nothing serious, just a very fast flat which the driver changed very quickly.

No smoking, please

At the Lavalon bar I met Mariella, the Spanish girl who had been at the hostel in Dili. She had arrived the day before by motorcycle and was booked on a ferry to Flores the next morning. I had some nice fries and a decent steak sandwich (far too much onion for my taste) the price of which I justified by not having eaten all day.

There was some confusion at the hostel as none of the staff available spoke English and nobody seemed to be expecting me. Thankfully there was still a dorm bunk free which was all I needed.